Big picture: Ostrich, by Magdalena Solé

There's nothing remotely normal about Fukushima since the earthquake and tsunami in 2011. Photograph: Magdalena Solé

It's a scene straight out of a post-apocalypse blockbuster: a lone ostrich trots down a deserted street, the pavements overgrown with weeds, an overturned car hinting at some recent catastrophe in a residential neighbourhood that's now eerily devoid of people.

This is Fukushima, Japan, deep in the heart of the restricted area around the eponymous nuclear plant. More than 80,000 residents living within a 20km zone around the power station were evacuated two days after a tsunami struck Japan's east coast on 11 March 2011, when it became apparent that the plant was leaking radiation at an alarming rate.

People fled, leaving everything behind – not just because they were in a hurry to escape, but also because they believed their belongings had been contaminated. Farms were abandoned, their livestock – including ostriches (farmed for both meat and skin, which is used in leather products) – set free. When photographer Magdalena Solé visited the area last December, cows roamed the streets and pigs occupied houses, having broken in through fragile shoji screen windows and doors in search of food.

The only humans she encountered were inside buses, wearing white suits and radiation masks, and making their way to and from the power plant. The locals have been allowed to return to the area only once since that day in March. More than a quarter of a million people are still displaced following the earthquake, and are for now living in temporary housing along the coast.

On the first anniversary of the disaster, thousands of protesters demanded the permanent shut-down of Japan's nuclear plants. For now, all but two of its 54 reactors are closed for tests, and they will not be allowed to restart unless they prove they can withstand catastrophic events.

For the residents – human and animal – of Fukushima prefecture, however, it is already too late. The operation to decontaminate the area is expected to last for years, and neighbourhoods such as this could remain uninhabitable for decades. What will become of this lonely ostrich, which Solé says approached her with untypical affection and curiosity, "as if she was just happy to see a human", is anybody's guess.